Black River remembered what it was.
The valley no longer sagged beneath the weight of Mira’s blood-soaked rituals. The land stood taller now, as if it had finally been allowed to breathe. Pines once gray and brittle had deepened into full, living green, their branches rolling in slow waves with the wind. The river that cut through the territory ran clear—no steam, no sour magic clinging to its banks. Its scent was clean stone and moss, touched with the faint metallic truth of honest blood instead of sacrifice.
Thomas stood on the upper terrace and watched his pack move.
Below him, the training fields churned with disciplined violence. The Warriors ran intersecting drills, shifting mid-charge, colliding in controlled strikes before breaking and reforming. Boots struck dirt. Paws tore sha
